


In Which Things are Started by Monroe's Love of Clocks

by orphan_account



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Confusion, Drugged Sex, First Time, M/M, Marking, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monroe is exposed to a mind-altering drug that forces him to confess his love to Nick. In the morning however, he has no memory of the previous night. Can they work things out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Things are Started by Monroe's Love of Clocks

**Author's Note:**

> Originally prompted on Dreamwidth, found here
> 
>  
> 
> <http://grimm-kink.dreamwidth.org/3689.html?thread=2161769>

Monroe was psyched. He had found a new antique shop, all the way on the opposite side of the city from his house. And yes, it was really firmly outside of his territory, which wasn’t something he was entirely comfortable with, but the place had been written up in one of those monthly email newsletters that he’d signed up for the last time he’d gone to the clock-making convention in Seattle. And it was only, like, a half-hour drive to get to a store that supposedly specialized in German cuckoo clocks, and seriously, it was just too awesome to pass up. He had to at least check it out.

 

So he folded himself into the Bug and drove across town, and got to the store, and holy _crap_  some of these pieces were beautiful (even if the spare parts in the boxes that lined the walls were overpriced).

 

And because it really wasn’t  _that_  unusual of a reaction, Monroe didn’t think twice when the owner of the shop squeaked and flashed his reinigen face—instead, he just sighed and called out to the man’s retreating back, “Hey man, I’m wieder, I’m not gonna eat you. I just wanna look at your clocks…” But the man had already disappeared into the bowels of the shop, so Monroe just shrugged and kept looking around. He tried not to let it bother him, and truthfully? It was a lot easier to ignore the constant stereotyping he got from the other wesen around Portland since Nick had appeared and begun distracting him.

 

But when the man reappeared, clutching a small stoppered tube in his shaking hand, Monroe glanced up from where he was bent over, inspecting the carving work on a particularly intricate piece, and raised an eyebrow.

 

Monroe looked him up and down, smelled the fear on his breath, and sighed again. “Dude, like I said, I’m wieder. I’m just here for the clocks.” He straightened up, and the man took a step backward, nearly falling over a display of pendulum weights. Monroe jumped forward, catching a few in his hands (because those things were _expensive_ , man, no sense to waste good equipment) and before he knew what was happening, the shop owner had uncorked the bottle and thrown the contents straight in his face.

 

A bright green powder settled on Monroe’s face—it smelled like pine trees and vanilla, and Monroe sneezed precisely three times, blinked once, then fell over, unconscious.

 

~~~

 

Monroe woke up in a field.

 

This was not the first time (likely not the last, either) that Monroe has regained consciousness in a field, but it was probably the most disconcerting. He sat up quickly, then fell over when the blood rushed from his head. He waited a moment, then tried again, moving more slowly and carefully, and looked around.

 

So. Abandoned field, no bodies or anything nearby (he checked himself over quickly—he was both wearing clothes and not covered in blood, so that’s good). Car? Missing, of course. Memory of how he got to the field—blank. In fact, he couldn’t remember anything past deciding to go to that new antique store. He wondered if he’d ever gotten there.

 

“Excellent,” he said sarcastically, and pushed himself to his feet. Well, he wasn’t going to get home by just standing here, so he quickly stripped (he could come back for his clothes—or not, he didn’t really like that shirt anyway, Nick said it made him look like a hillbilly) and shifted fully. Once he had all four paws on the ground, he lifted his head, scenting, and loped off in the direction of town.

 

It took him a good two hours of running steadily before houses started to appear and he was able to get his bearings. As luck would have it, he was nowhere near his own house, but Nick’s wasn’t too far off. And hey, it probably wouldn’t hurt to let Nick know that he had lost most of his memories of the day and that he’d woken up in an effing _field_ , because if this wasn’t wesen-related, then Monroe was a reinigen.

 

Reinigen… why did that sound familiar…?

 

Anyway, going and seeing Nick just sounded like a _really_  good idea, and Monroe was almost annoyed with himself that he hadn’t thought of going there right away. Of course he should go see Nick. He always wanted to see Nick.

 

So Monroe slunk through Nick’s neighborhood, keeping to the shadows. He certainly didn’t want anyone to call animal control on him. But he finally got to Nick’s house, and oh thank god, his lights were on. He padded up the front steps onto the porch, then jumped up and hit the doorbell with a heavy paw. There was a clatter from inside (Nick was cooking himself dinner? Monroe hoped he wasn’t poisoning himself accidentally) and then the front door swung open.

 

Nick jumped slightly when the light from his entryway revealed a 250 pound wolf, but recovered when Monroe tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow (he’d worked hard to be able to make that expression in wolf form, and damn it felt good to use it).

 

“Hi Monroe,” Nick said, laughing. “I’m assuming you want your change of clothes?” Monroe nodded, (he’d forgotten about the clothes, actually, but yea, that sounded good) and followed Nick into the house, his wolfy brow furrowing slightly—since when did Nick smell like pine trees? Weird…

 

“Well, you know where everything is,” Nick said, gesturing upstairs. Monroe nodded, then trotted to the spare bedroom and changed back, pulling on a sweater and jeans he’d left here for precisely this purpose.

 

He wandered back downstairs, rubbing slightly at his shoulders (running as a wolf worked his muscles in the weirdest ways) and found Nick in the kitchen.

 

“All good?” Nick asked with a grin, and Monroe plopped into a chair by the kitchen table.

 

“Something weird happened, Nick,” Monroe said, but he spoke slowly. His head suddenly felt fuzzy, and he had a feeling like he should be doing something else besides just sitting at this table. Nick turned to him, concerned.

 

“Are you ok?” he asked, his voice tight, and put his hand on Monroe’s shoulder. The edge of his pinky brushed against Monroe’s neck, so slightly it almost didn’t happen, but Monroe sucked in a breath—everything went green for a split second. The air smelt like pine trees and vanilla, and he looked up at Nick with wide eyes.

 

“Never better,” Monroe breathed, and Nick smiled warmly at him.

 

“So what was the weird thing that happened?” he asked, going back to the stove and scooping out some stir-fry. “Oh, do you want some? It’s got chicken, but I could pick it out, they’re all pretty big pieces.”

 

“No stir-fry,” Monroe said, focusing on the words that were suddenly practically bursting from his mouth. “Nick, I love you. I’m in love with you. I want you to be my mate.”

 

Nick stiffened, and then very slowly put his plate down, flicked off the stove, and turned around. His eyes were huge, and Monroe had never seen him look so confused. “W-what?”

 

Monroe shrugged, then stood up and walked over to him. He slid one hand to Nick’s waist and cupped Nick’s jaw with his other. The second he touched Nick’s skin, the mental static stopped. “I love you. It’s stupid to try and deny it.”

 

Nick’s hands moved to cover Monroe’s, and he took a step closer, pressing them together. “You’re straight,” he mumbled, and closed his eyes, but he was nuzzling into Monroe’s hand, and if Monroe had possessed his tail at the moment, it would have been wagging wildly.

 

“I thought I was,” Monroe told him easily, “but then I met you.”

 

“Jesus, Monroe,” Nick whispered. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you, why didn’t you say something sooner?” He pulled his head away and slid his hands up Monroe’s back. They were no longer touching skin-to-skin, and the fuzziness in Monroe’s head abruptly returned.

 

He blinked, suddenly confused. “Um, that was the… weird thing?” He lowered his voice and almost stepped back. “I mean, no, there was something else…” But then Nick looked up at him, grey eyes wide (there was another flash of green and pine trees and vanilla) and Monroe smiled, laced their fingers together, and the fuzziness disappeared. “Can I kiss you?”

 

In response, Nick tilted his head toward Monroe and slotted their lips together, his hands fisting Monroe’s sweater, pulling him even closer. Monroe backed him slowly against the counter, both arms tight at his waist, hands crawling up the back of Nick’s shirt, and kissed back, exploring Nick’s mouth and moaning softly.

 

Nick grabbed onto Monroe’s neck, slid a hand through his hair, pushed his hips forward, and oh, he was hard. Monroe growled low in his throat and nipped at Nick’s lips before pulling back slightly to ask, “Bedroom?”

 

“God yes,” Nick said, and Monroe scooped him up (Nick laughed wildly) and carried him up the stairs.

 

~~~

 

Monroe opened his eyes blearily to a significantly too perky sun shining through a crack in the blinds and a terrible pain behind his eyes. “Owww,” he said to no one in particular, and tried to sit up. It took him a couple tries, but eventually he was able to look around to try and discern just where he was, what he was doing here, and how he had got here in the first place.

 

‘Where,’ apparently, was an unfamiliar bed, and ‘what…’ well. You didn’t have to be blutbad to catch the smell of sex that lingered on the sheets, so he was fairly sure that mystery had been solved. Also, he realized belatedly, he was naked, and covered in… ah. He wrinkled his nose. So there was that.

 

That just left the matter of ‘how’—and actually, figuring out ‘why’ and ‘who’ would probably be a good call as well.

 

He sniffed again, delicately, and something prickled in the back of his mind. The smell in this room was very familiar—he would have recognized it sooner if the situation hadn’t been so incongruous to his life in general. It was a hint of something supernatural mixed with a touch of danger plus a healthy dose of gunpowder and a leather jacket and holy fuck. He was in Nick’s room, wasn’t he?

 

He rubbed his head and tried to remember. Nothing, nothing… the antique shop?

 

From down the hall, he suddenly registered the sound of a shower being turned on, and sucked in a breath. Oh man, this was terrible.

 

Okay, facts: he was naked, in Nick’s bed, covered in what appeared to be dried semen, and had no idea how he’d gotten here. In fact, he couldn’t remember anything past deciding to go to that antique shop (was it yesterday? had to have been) yesterday afternoon.

 

He bolted out of bed and looked wildly around for his clothes, and oh, there they were, crumpled in a corner of Nick’s room. They were his spare set, so something must have happened to whatever he was wearing yesterday. He licked his lips nervously as he dressed, and froze, tasting blood on his lips.

 

Nick’s blood, and oh _Jesus_ , what had he done?

 

The second his clothes were on, he darted out of the room, thinking _God, Nick I’m **so**  sorry _in the direction of the occupied bathroom, and ran down the stairs. He needed to find that antique shop. That’s where everything had started to go wrong—at least, that’s what it seemed like—and Monroe needed to put things right.

 

~~~

 

Monroe was growling by the time he got to the store, (the fact that his car and cell phone and wallet were all MIA was not exactly putting him in an amicable mood) and didn’t think twice about breaking the lock on the front door. He shut it behind him with a kick, and inhaled deeply. Reinigen, behind the counter—he jumped over a wooden desk and landed next to the terrified shopkeeper, who had been trying to hide.

 

He shoved him hard against the side of the counter and growled, letting out more of his wolf face than he usually would, “What the _hell_  did you do to me?” The man wriggled, trying to escape, and Monroe growled, tightened his grip. “Tell me,” he threatened, “and I probably won’t kill you.”

 

The man buried his face in his hands. “You were supposed to go fight the Grimm, I know there’s one in Portland, why are you still alive?”

 

Monroe shoved the guy against the counter again. “Why was I supposed to go fight the Grimm?” he snapped, and tried not to think about what he’d done to Nick instead of just beating him up. He personally thought that rape was a hell of a lot worse.  

 

“I, I, you—”

 

“What were you trying to do?” Monroe yelled, his patience snapping. “You made me freaking _rape_  my friend! Tell me what the hell you did!”

 

“It’s a drug,” the man wailed finally. “It’s supposed to make you act on your basest instincts with whatever Grimm you can find. I thought you’d find him and try to fight with him and he’d kill you, and then you wouldn’t come back and _eat_  me!” He abruptly started sobbing, and Monroe dropped his hold on his arms and leaned back.

 

“Why did you do that?” he said, mostly to himself, and the reinigen stared at him through his tears.

 

“You’re blutbad, you would have—”

 

“I’m _wieder,"_  Monroe snapped, interrupting. “Which you obviously didn’t bother to figure out before you drugged me, you sack of shit. But whatever, Nick’s probably going to kill me now anyway, so you’ve got your wish.” He stood and glared down at the still-shaking man. “Where’s my car? And my phone and wallet?”

 

“The forest,” the man said quickly, seemingly realizing that Monroe wasn’t going to kill him. “I—my friends—we—I mean—”

 

Monroe growled, and the man stopped stuttering. “We left your car near Mount Hood, everything inside. We thought—”

 

Monroe didn’t bother listening anymore, simply turned and left, knocking over a display of pocket watches as he went.

 

~~~

 

It took Monroe five hours to get to Mount Hood by bus and another four to find his car. And then he had to break a window to get in, but at least the reinigen hadn’t lied—his phone and wallet were in the glove compartment.

 

He slid into the driver’s seat before picking up his phone to really look at it—it was an iPhone, one Nick had bought him to replace the one the Lowens had smashed all those months ago. He stared blankly at its familiar screen, its message alert light flashing. He swallowed and swiped it to unlock it. Fifteen missed calls, three voicemails, five texts. All from Nick.

 

The soft whine reverberated in his throat before he was even conscious that he’d done it. But he couldn’t avoid this forever. He pressed the ‘call voicemail’ option, and brought the phone to his ear.

 

‘You have three new messages,’ Monroe’s voicemail informed him. There was a beep, then the mechanical voice said, ‘Eight oh seven, am, Sunday.’

 

’ _Hey, it’s Nick, um. You left, I mean, I know you know you left, I was just surprised. Um. Call me? I mean, we should probably talk._   There was a pause, and then another beep.

 

‘One thirty-three, pm, Sunday.’

 

_Hey, Monroe. I just—fuck. Ah, I’m worried about you. You haven’t been answering all day. Call me, man._  Pause, beep.

 

‘Five forty-nine, pm, Sunday.’

 

_Fuck, okay. I know this is crazy stalker territory, leaving you all sorts of messages, and really please ignore those texts, I, I, just call me back. Please. You’re not at your house, your car’s gone, I’m worried, I’m not **mad**  or anything, just really confused, and after what you said, I mean._ Monroe could practically see Nick rubbing his hand through his hair while leaving this message. He’d be wearing that crumpled-looking face that Monroe hated to see on him, ‘cause that meant that someone, something had made Nick upset, and he hated it when Nick was upset. On the phone, voicemail-Nick sighed.  _Please, just call or text or come over. I want to see you._

 

Monroe hung up his voicemail and stared at his phone for a second before opening the texts.

 

_**7:23 am.** -Where’d you go?_

_  
_

_**8:02 am.** -Totally rude to leave without making me coffee at least, man. :)_

_  
_

_**1:01 pm**. -Hey, call me_

_  
_

_**2:52 pm.** -ok so you’re obviously freaking out. You don’t need to be freaking out, it’s ok._

_  
_

_**5:13 pm.** -just fucking call me Monroe_

 

Monroe’s finger hovered over the ‘reply’ button for a moment before he switched gears and decided to call instead. He shouldn’t face Nick over text—he owed him that much at least. So he pressed the ‘call Nick’ icon on his home screen and put the phone to his ear.

 

It rang for about half a second before Nick answered with a worried, “Jesus Monroe, what the fuck?”

 

“I—”

 

“I’ve been calling you all goddamn day, you couldn’t have at least texted me back?” Monroe could hear him stomping around on hardwood—he was probably at one of their houses, then.

 

“Nick—”

 

Nick’s voice was muffled, like his hand was over his mouth. “Why did you leave this morning?” Monroe blinked at the obviously broken sound of Nick’s voice—it didn’t mesh right with the way a man should be talking when on the phone with someone who had taken him against his will the night before.

 

Still, the guilt rose up in Monroe’s chest, making it hard to speak. “God, I’m so sorry,” he said in a rush. “You’ve gotta forgive me, this guy, he drugged me, I don’t even know what I did, I just, I woke up in your bed this morning, and I’m so sorry, so _sorry_ , Nick, please don’t hate me, I can’t—” and Monroe cut himself off, the knot in his throat suddenly making it too painful to keep speaking.

 

There was silence on the other end of the line, then Nick said, his voice strained, “What are you talking about?”

 

“Whatever I did to you yesterday, I don’t remember, he _drugged_  me, man.” Monroe raked a hand through his hair and slumped back in his seat.

 

“Oh,” Nick said, sounding lost. “Oh-okay. Listen, I’m not… mad, okay? Where are you? Can you come over?”

 

“I’m by Mount Hood,” Monroe told him. “That’s where they dumped my car.”

 

“Jesus,” Nick said, and then took a breath. “Please come over. We gotta talk.”

 

“Yea, okay,” Monroe agreed miserably. “I’ll be a couple hours.”

 

~~~

 

It took Monroe almost a full minute to psych himself up enough to get out of the car when he finally pulled up to Nick’s at almost ten at night. He half-expected Nick to show up, axe in hand—and he’d deserve it, no doubt.

 

But when he rang Nick’s doorbell, the only thing that happened was that Nick threw open the door and pulled him into a hug. “Jesus, I’ve been so worried about you all day,” he said into his chest. Monroe blinked and awkwardly returned the hug, quickly dropping it when Nick stepped back slightly.

 

He followed Nick inside, into the kitchen, and then cringed when the bright kitchen lights let him see Nick fully for the first time. He had dark bruises on his wrists, a bandage poked up from underneath the collar of his white t-shirt on his left shoulder, and he was walking with a slight limp. He looked exhausted, and when Nick reached up into one of his cupboards to get a cup for water, (that Monroe didn’t want, but was too mortified to refuse) his shirt rode up slightly and Monroe saw finger-shaped bruises on his hips as well.

 

He buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god, Nick, I’m so sorry.”

 

Nick just filled the cup with filtered water from the fridge and placed it next to Monroe on the table. “Drink. You look dehydrated. Have you eaten anything today?”

 

“No,” Monroe said miserably, “but you don’t need to feed me, man. I, oh man. I hurt you, Nick.”

 

“You didn’t—” Nick said, kneeling down next to Monroe, but he interrupted him.

 

“Look at what I did to you,” he breathed, and gently touched Nick’s wrist, his shoulder. “I fucking raped you, man. Why aren’t you killing me right now?”

 

Nick sat back on his heels, obviously shocked. “You didn’t rape me, Monroe. Not even close—if anything, I took advantage of  _you_ , you didn’t know what you were doing. You said you were drugged?” He hesitantly touched Monroe’s knee, and looked at him with wide, grey eyes. Something clicked in Monroe’s mind, like a memory, those eyes looking up at him, telling him how long he’d wanted him…

 

Monroe shook his head. “I found the guy. He owns a shop, or maybe just works there, I don’t know… I went there yesterday ‘cause I read an article about his antique clocks. And he did something, gave me some drug, and I passed out. Next thing I remember, I’m waking up here.” He looked at Nick. “What did I do to you?”

 

Nick stared at him for a moment. “What did you do to the shopkeeper?”

 

Monroe shrugged. “Nothing. Scared him a little. Didn’t hurt him, though.”

 

Nick seemed to accept this, and stood, started pacing. “Okay, okay, I should have known, there’s no way you would have…” He sighed. “You came over—you were a wolf when you showed up, by the way—and in retrospect, you were acting kinda weird. Confused, maybe. But what you were saying—I’m sorry, Monroe, I should have been paying closer attention, but I just wanted what you were saying to be true…” He trailed off and ran his hands through his hair. “We had sex, yea. I’m sure you figured that out. But it wasn’t rape, not by a long shot. I wanted everything you did.”

 

Monroe watched him pace for a moment, then asked, “What was I saying?”

 

Nick paused in his pacing for a split second, then waved his hand and kept moving. Monroe watched his wrist, eyes fixed on those bruises. “It doesn’t matter,” Nick said, and frowned.

 

Monroe licked his lips, thought about Nick, about how horrible it had felt when he’d thought he’d forced himself on him, how terrible he _didn’t_  feel now, now that he knew Nick had wanted it. Wanted him. “Please tell me, Nick,” he said softly, and grabbed his hand when his pacing brought him past the table again.

 

Nick looked down at Monroe’s fingers wrapped gently around his wrist and tilted his head, an unhappy look (mixed with something that looked very close to longing) on his face. Monroe gently tugged him closer.

 

“The guy said that the drug made me act on my basest instincts,” he said slowly. “I was supposed to find the nearest Grimm and do what my blutbad instincts told me to, which the guy assumed was attack you. He thought you’d kill me and then I wouldn’t come and eat him.”

 

Nick stared at him. “You didn’t want to fight,” he said finally.

 

“What did I say to you, Nick?” Monroe asked, enunciating each word carefully.

 

“That you loved me and wanted me to be your mate,” Nick whispered. A red blush spread across his cheekbones, and Monroe stood up, crowding him slightly. He pulled the collar of Nick’s shirt over and spread his fingers along the bandage on Nick’s shoulder. Nick shivered.

 

“I marked you, didn’t I? Monroe asked, but it really wasn’t a question. “Let me see.”

 

Nick looked up into his eyes and then tentatively reached down and pulled the hem of his t-shirt up, his muscles flexing as he pulled it off. Monroe suppressed the low growl that rose unbidden in his throat, but only just. Instead, he peeled the taped-on gauze away from Nick’s shoulder and leaned in, turning Nick around so his back was to Monroe’s front and he could examine the bite.

 

It was red and slightly swollen, not yet starting to scab over. _It was probably sore,_  he reasoned, and leaned closer, his breath warming Nick’s skin. “Monroe,” Nick breathed, broken, and leaned back toward him. Monroe looked him over, taking in a few other small bruises he’d apparently sucked into Nick’s skin the previous night, but he eventually was drawn back to the mark.

 

“I’m not gonna lie,” Monroe said, and licked the bite gently, barely touching his tongue to Nick’s skin. Nick froze, and made a slightly needy noise. “I haven’t consciously thought about this,” Monroe continued. Another lick, this time with more pressure and the addition of lips, kissing after he trailed his tongue around the circumference of the mark. “At least, not much, but,” he slid his hands around Nick’s bare waist, glancing down to be certain that he didn’t accidentally press against his bruises, “other than the searing guilt I’ve been fighting most of the day, I kept thinking about you.”

 

Nick seemed to come to his senses and unfroze. He pushed back into his touch, slotting himself along Monroe’s chest, and leaned his head back so he could look at him. “Were you?”

 

“Jeez, yes,” Monroe said, and kissed his neck. “I’m not stupid, and there’s nothing wrong with my nose. I could smell you on me, I knew I made you come.” Nick shivered again, and Monroe continued. “And I wished, god Nick, I wished so _hard_ that I could touch you again when I could remember it.”

 

Nick twisted in his arms, breathing heavily. “You can touch me whenever you want, Monroe,” he said, and Monroe kissed him.

 

~~~

 

They made it upstairs, mostly because Nick grimaced in a burst of pain when Monroe pushed him up against the fridge, and Monroe started apologizing profusely, having forgotten about Nick’s bruises. Nick just laughed and suggested they adjourn to the bedroom, looking up at Monroe from under lowered lashes.

 

Monroe agreed instantly, and once there, he let Nick push him down on the bed and pull his clothes off. And yea, it was kinda weird that the person pressing kisses into his overheated skin wasn’t a woman, but it _was_  Nick, and it felt _so_  good and  _so_  right, and Monroe was fully aware that he was whining in the back of his throat, but Nick didn’t seem to care—in fact, the more Monroe whined, the harder Nick kissed him.

 

But as Nick’s fingers hooked at the top of Monroe’s boxers, he paused and looked up at him. “You’re not…” he said uncertainly, and it took a moment for Monroe to work out what he was asking—he certainly wasn’t lacking any in terms of arousal.

 

“No, I’m all here, all me, not drugged, I want you, Nick, so bad,” he gushed, and Nick looked down at his tented boxers and smiled.

 

“You better be,” he said as he pulled down and tossed the last scrap of Monroe’s clothing across the room. “Cause you really need to remember this tomorrow.”

 

“I will,” promised Monroe, and Nick grinned lecherously at him before bending down and taking him in his mouth. He alternated rolling his tongue around his tip and sliding his head down, taking Monroe in deep, getting him slick. Monroe propped himself up on his elbows so he could watch Nick’s dark head bobbing, his hands braced on Monroe’s hips, his ass up in the air.

 

Monroe reached out and slid his fingers through Nick’s hair and down to his neck, where he could feel his muscles bunching and releasing over and over, and was unable to stop himself from rocking his hips gently to meet Nick’s mouth. “Nick,” he said, touching his chin, and those grey eyes flicked up to meet his own.

 

Nick slid off his dick and Monroe’s stomach tightened at the sight of Nick’s mouth, open and red and wet. His hair was sticking up slightly from where Monroe had run his hand through it, and he smiled. “Yea?”

 

“C’mere,” Monroe ordered gently, and waved Nick up toward him. He abruptly realized that Nick was still wearing his jeans, and he shook his head. “Why are you still dressed?”

 

“I wanted to taste you,” Nick said, and shrugged. “Got impatient.”

 

Monroe’s eyes flashed red and he shivered. “Come. Here. Please.” Nick moved up and straddled his waist. Monroe pulled on the waistband of Nick’s jeans and then fumblingly slid the button through the hole and unzipped his pants with a slow, measured movement. Nick watched the developments with wide eyes and his already labored breathing intensified. Monroe looked up at him as he opened Nick’s pants fully and slid his hand inside, through the opening in his boxers. He wrapped his hand (albeit somewhat awkwardly) around him, and pulled him out. “Closer,” he said, and Nick shuffled up his chest, getting the idea of what Monroe wanted.

 

His first taste of Nick (that he could remember, at least—he’d have to ask Nick about that later) was like ambrosia. He licked a bead of pre-come off of Nick’s head and then placed a wet, open mouthed kiss on his tip. Then he pulled back and inhaled deeply, memorizing Nick’s scent, making sure he’d never, never forget this. And then with one smooth movement, he wrapped his hands around Nick’s waist, pulled his jean-clad ass closer, and swallowed down Nick’s dick.

 

Above him, Nick moaned and pressed in closer, scratching his fingers into Monroe’s scalp. “Holy fuck, Monroe,” he breathed. “You’re gonna suck my brains out.” Monroe hummed in agreement, and Nick laughed shakily. Monroe couldn’t deep throat without gagging, but he used his hand to work what his mouth couldn’t reach, made up for the lack of depth with delicious suction, trying to do to Nick what he knew he liked.

 

Nick writhed and jerked and was obviously trying not to push deeper into Monroe’s mouth. “Monroe, Monroe, oh god, Monroe,” he moaned, and tightened his grip in the blutbad’s hair. “I’m gonna, Monroe, I’m gonna…” Monroe nodded slightly, keeping Nick’s cock as far in his mouth as he could get it, and Nick arched his back, graceful and boneless, coming down his throat and crying out.

 

Monroe let him slip from his mouth and tried to swallow what Nick had given him, was mostly successful. Nick looked down at him and wiped his fingers down the side of Monroe’s mouth, where some of his release had overflowed and dripped into his beard.

 

“I love you, you know that?” he said, and Monroe lifted an eyebrow.

 

“You know that doesn’t count right after you’ve had an orgasm, right?” His voice was scratchy and thick, and Nick grinned at him and slid down so he was again straddling his waist.

 

“I’ll just have to say it again later, then,” he said, and leaned down to suck a mark into Monroe’s neck.

 

“I’ll remember that,” Monroe muttered, and held onto Nick’s hips as he ground up onto him. “Why are you still wearing pants?”

 

“Someone didn’t feel the urge to take them off me,” Nick muttered back. Monroe growled and rolled them over, working his hands under Nick’s waistband and pushing down. The pants and boxers disappeared over the side of the bed and Nick groaned when Monroe’s hands cupped his too-sensitive dick, but pushed into his touch anyway. “I want you,” he said into Monroe’s ear.  

 

“You’ve got me,” Monroe whispered back, but Nick shook his head and laughed. Monroe would have been offended, but Nick rocked his hips up and well, Monroe didn’t have much ability to think coherently right now.

 

“No, no. I want you inside me.”

 

Oh, it was _that_ kind of ‘I want you.’

 

“Are you sure?” Monroe asked breathlessly. “You’re already limping. I mean, did I, I don’t want to, I don’t know.”

 

Nick burst out laughing again, and Monroe looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. In between laughs that sounded a bit too giggly for a thirty-two year old man to be making, Nick said, “I’m _limping_  because I got hit in leg with a pipe last week, remember?”

 

“Oh,” Monroe said thickly. And since there wasn’t really anything else to say to that, he just leaned down and kissed Nick again. After a few minutes of this (Monroe was pleased to feel that Nick was already rallying and hardening again) Nick wriggled out from underneath him and flipped onto his stomach, reaching for his bedside drawer.

 

He fumbled for a moment (possibly swore a couple times) but eventually reemerged with a tube of lubrication. He handed it to Monroe, and turned again, his chest on the bed, his ass raised slightly.

 

Monroe stared at the tube of KY and floundered. Logistically, he knew what should happen—lubrication goes in Nick’s—oh wow, _that_  was a thought—goes in Nick’s ass, and then he’d be able to take him, push inside… his cock twitched, but he was still uncertain.

 

“So,” he said haltingly. “Um, do I, uh just put it on me? Or you? Cause, um…”

 

From near the headboard, Nick started laughing. And okay, Monroe had never had sex with so much laughing before, but it wouldn’t be Nick if he didn’t give him a hard time, he guessed. But then Nick rolled back over and grabbed the KY from him. “Watch,” he ordered, “and next time, you’ll do this.”

 

Nick then smeared some lube on his own fingers and rolled back onto his stomach so Monroe could get a good view. He circled his hole for a second, dragging the slick around, and then pushed in with one finger. “You gotta stretch first,” Nick said, and started thrusting into himself with his hand. Monroe just watched with his mouth slightly open as Nick opened himself, and let out a soft whine when Nick added first another, then a third finger.

 

“Okay,” Nick said, breathless, “now slick up yourself and push in, slowly.” He pulled his hand away and Monroe was frozen for a moment, staring at Nick’s open hole, but then, almost unable to help himself, bent down swiftly and licked firmly across Nick’s ass before pushing his tongue inside to lap in as deep as he could reach. Above him, Nick’s breath caught in his throat, and he groaned out, “Or do that, yea, that’s… holy fuck.” There was a thunk, and Monroe paused to glance up—Nick had dropped his forehead on the headboard and was panting heavily. “Jesus Monroe,” he said. “Put something in me, you’re going to kill me, here.”

 

Monroe let out a husky laugh of his own and went back to licking at Nick’s hole, which just relaxed further with every swipe of his tongue. The lube tasted weird (kinda terrible, actually) but Nick tasted wonderful—more than making up for the slightly plastic-y taste of the KY, which was quickly being washed away, anyway.

 

But the throbbing of his own dick was getting hard to ignore, so Monroe reluctantly pulled away and grabbed the tube again, dripping some on his cock to get himself ready. He paused, then added some more to Nick’s rim (Nick shivered, and Monroe didn’t blame him, the slick was cold) to replace what he’d washed away, and then Nick was arching his back toward him, and Monroe was sliding into position behind him, and pushing in, and Nick was so tight and so perfect and this was so wonderful…

 

“Oh jeez,” Monroe squeaked out, and pushed deeper. He grabbed Nick’s hips (not even noticing that his fingers fell directly on bruises he’d made the previous night) and pulled him back, getting closer, burying himself in Nick. He was panting, and vaguely aware that his eyes were red (had been for awhile, now) and that his canines were out, and perhaps his body hair was slightly thicker than normal (not saying much) but Nick didn’t seem to notice or care.

 

“Monroe,” he said, “oh yes, yes, harder,” and he pushed against the headboard, forcing himself back, taking Monroe even  _deeper_  and couldn’t help but comply, pulling out and thrusting back in forcefully, fighting to keep his claws in so he wouldn’t cut Nick, and then he made the mistake of looking at the red bite mark on his shoulder, and he had to bend down and nip at it, open it up slightly, let a few drops of Nick’s blood into his mouth.

 

The second he bit down on the mark, Nick stiffened and cried out underneath him, and for a moment, Monroe was terrified he’d hurt him, but no, the musky smell of Nick’s release filled the bedroom again, and he tightened around Monroe’s cock.

 

And unable to control himself for even a second more, Monroe threw back his head and howled, pumping into Nick, shaking with the force of his own orgasm and then collapsing and rolling to the side, pulling entirely out and then rolling back over so he could drape himself over his Grimm, separating them only by millimeters.

 

He grabbed a still-panting Nick and tucked him into his arms, curling his legs and arms protectively around Nick’s waist and thighs, and snuffled into his hair. They lay in silence for a long time, maybe fifteen minutes, their only movements small shifts so they could be pressed even closer together.

 

“I love you,” Monroe said after awhile, and Nick snorted.

 

“I thought you said that didn’t count post-orgasm.” He looped his hand around to stroke at Monroe’s beard, and Monroe nuzzled into his touch.

 

“Eh, wanted to say it before I fell asleep,” Monroe muttered, and Nick laughed softly, then sobered.

 

“You’re gonna remember this time, right?” he asked, and there was a hint of worry in his voice.

 

They were pressed together too closely for Monroe to be able to look at him, so he just tightened his arms around his chest for a moment. “I’ll remember,” he promised.

 

~~~

 

Monroe woke to the sun shining (again, far too perkily) through Nick’s blinds. This time, however, he wasn’t alone—warm arms were latched around his waist, and when he finally convinced himself to open his eyes, he was met by worried grey ones staring right back.

 

“Do you remember?” Nick asked him, and Monroe smiled.

 

“The mind blowing sex and that fact that I’m apparently gay for you? Yep.”

 

Nick breathed out in relief, and Monroe pressed a kiss to his hair. “I love you,” he said, and Nick snuggled in closer. 


End file.
